by Jack Waddell
"I swear that knock on your head must have killed any sense you had left in you. What are you thinking?" Charlie added.
"Look, Conor and I are going to play in the Calcutta. We have to. We can win the thing. Thanks to you, father, I need the money."
Charlie didn't like that. He rose from his chair and shook his finger at his son. "Listen to me. I didn't put you in that hospital. You got yourself there doing God knows what. And that's also why we're forcing you to make something of yourself. You're going to wind up dead in the gutter if you don't straighten up."
"Young man, did you have anything to do with this?" Myrtle said accusingly to Conor.
"No Ma'am," Conor replied somewhat embarrassed to now be part of the conversation. "Truly 'twas his own idea."
"Mother, leave Conor out of it. He's been nothing but a good friend."
"And what about Bob Graves?" Charlie said jumping to another tack. "You're gonna let him bid on you in your condition? He could drop a bundle on you based on your arrogance. And that's what it is, you know, your arrogance.
Billy took a step forward toward his father. Conor reached over to hold his arm. "Now you listen." Billy said, his face reddening, "You both told me the other day you wanted me to act like a man. Well, a man makes his own decisions based on what he knows and what's important to him and to those around him. And that's just what I've done. I've made a decision. And what I know is that I'm well enough to play and playing is important, It's important for me and it's important for Conor here. And if we're right, it's going to be important for Bob Graves as well. Now if you're not going to respect my decisions, you're not treating me like the man you want me to be."
Charlie sat back down and said nothing for a few moments, Myrtle looked at him waiting for his response. Then he looked to Conor. "How'd he do tonight? Can he play? And don't give me any bullshit."
"He can play," Conor said simply.
Charlie again thought for a few moments. "I'm calling Bob Graves. He needs to be in on this. If he's not prepared to bid on you, I'm not prepared to go in with him and this whole discussion doesn't mean anything."
"You call him," Billy said. "And you tell him Conor and I said we're ready."
Charlie got up from the table and started for his den. Over his shoulder he said, "And I'm going to tell him what I think about you being ready,"
Billy called out. "We're still entered as a team… somebody else can buy us don't forget."
Charlie just waved his hand back at them as he disappeared around the door.
Billy looked at Myrtle. "Mother, we're starved. Is there any food in the house for us?"
Happy the talk had suddenly switched to a topic she was more comfortable with Myrtle smiled, "I'm sure there is. I'll have Ester get something together for you two boys."
"And Mother, I'd like Conor to stay here tonight… and right through the Calcutta. That's still all right with you isn't it?"
"Of course, dear. The south guest room is all ready for him."
* * *
Billy and Conor had just started in on pork chops and mashed potatoes when Charlie came back into the dining room and sat down in his chair at the head of the table.
"So what did Bob say?" Billy asked.
"He's in. I explained everything to him and I told him I think you're crazy. But he said if Conor said you were all right that was good enough for him."
"He said that, did he?" Conor asked surprised.
"Yeah, he did. All I know is you boys better play hard. Bob's heard talk the bidding this year may get pretty rich. I think he'll go as deep as he needs to, but like I said, you boys better be prepared to make a run at it."
"We'll be ready, won't we partner?" Billy said.
"Aye. We'll be ready."
* * *
After the meal was finished Conor asked if he could use the telephone. Billy took him to Charlie's den and left him. Conor dialed the operator and gave her the number on the slip of paper he took from his pocket. He heard the phone ring and then he heard Opal answer. "Burke residence. Who's calling please?"
"Is Annie there?" he asked not used to reaching an intermediary. Then he added, "I mean Mrs. Burke?"
"Who is this?" Opal repeated.
"Conor… Conor O'Reilly… Mr. Conor O'Reilly."
"Let me see."
There was a long wait, then he heard, "Hello? Conor?
"Hello Annie!"
"Oh Conor, it's so good of you to call. I was hoping you would. I can think of nothing but you."
"And I you. I have good news to tell you of. Billy is out of the hospital and we're going to play in the Calcutta this weekend."
"That's fabulous! Oh, I'm so happy for you!"
"Aye, 'tis fantastic it is. We are to be very excited. And how are you? And how is your work?"
"Ugh. The work. I didn't even finish the last revision before they sent over more changes. Suddenly I've got to change everything from Boston to New York. It's crazy. I'm swamped."
"When can I see you?"
"Not for a couple days. Franklin's been circling about like a vulture waiting for this draft. I can't do anything until it's done. But you're busy with your tournament, aren't you?"
"Aye, this weekend anyway. Do you think you can come out and watch us? I'm to be told there's usually a big gallery. Maybe I could see you after one of the rounds?"
"Oh, I'll be there if I can be. I promise you that. How will I know when you're playing?"
"If I can't call you, you can call the pro shop. They'll have the tee times."
"Okay. Good. Where are you now?"
"I'm staying with Billy Compton at his parent's house until the tournament is to be over. They've been most gracious. 'Tis their phone I'm using so I can't be talking long."
"I see. And I should be getting back to the typewriter. But before you go I want you to know something."
"What 'tis that?"
"That I love you. I love you Conor O'Reilly."
"And I'm to love you Annie. With all of me heart."
"Then, 'til I see you again… goodnight."
"Aye. 'Til I see you again my love. Goodnight."
Conor hung the receiver on the hook and looked at the telephone. He did love her. And he would play for her as he'd never played before.
(back to top)
Chapter 25
Auction
Friday, May 23, 1930
Conor and Billy practiced well into the early evening out by the fourteenth hole. Billy would rest frequently sitting on the ground and smoking a cigarette and then he would resume. Their banter was easy, their spirits high. Billy decided they would go out to dinner together afterwards before heading back to his parent’s house. Although it was somewhat traditional for the players to attend the Calcutta auction the night before the event, Robert told Billy that Conor should not appear and that it would be less awkward if Billy didn’t show either, especially showing the bandaged head. Robert didn’t want any complications. It would be easier to handle in the morning after all the pairings were made and the tournament about to begin.
They were picking up their practice balls and getting ready to leave when Billy asked Conor, “Do you like Mexican food?”
Conor stopped and looked up at him and smiled. “We didn't even have any when we were in Mexico! And what would an Irishman to be knowing about Mexican food? I’m to understand they don’t even eat potatoes!”
Billy laughed. “Well it’s time you found out. It’s good and it fills you up. And it’s cheap, too! And that’s good because we’re going Dutch tonight.”
“If it’s to be cheap I can do that,” Conor replied. “Where are we going?”
“Down on Alvera Street – little Mexican area not too far downtown. We can make an early night of it.”
“I think you’re to be serious about this Calcutta. No party for you tonight?”
“I’m dead serious. No more parties unless we win this thing.”
* * *
Robert and Charlie Comp
ton walked into the Biarritz ballroom together. Most of the crowd had already gathered, maybe a hundred and fifty men in tuxedos smoking cigars, holding drinks and talking at once to create a basso rumble that rolled back in echoes off the red brocade walls and carved plaster ceiling. The seven crystal chandeliers and the gilded sconces around the room cast an orange glow through the smoky fog. At one end was a raised platform with a large tote board that held the names of all the contestant teams in the Calcutta. At the other end was a bar where members were queued three deep. As the two made their way to the bar they waved back at a barrage of shouted greetings and questions.
“Hey, Charlie! Who’s the guy paired with your kid?”
“Bob! You bidding on Billy again?”
“I hear you brought in a ringer from Redlands!”
“Charlie… passing on your own son’s team again this year?”
“Hey Robert, wanna split your action with me?”
“Hey Compton, is Billy out cattin’ around tonight like usual? Think he’s gonna show up tomorrow?”
“What’s with Billy playin’ all the time with that caddie?”
“Where’s Billy? And where’s the other guy? They here tonight?”
“Bob! Who’s this O'Reilly guy?”
Once they reached the back of the scrum in front of the bar, Charlie leaned and shouted into Robert’s ear. “You still think you can pull this off tonight?”
Robert smiled and nodded. He took a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit up. He blew smoke over Charlie’s head and shouted back, “It’s in the bag. They can’t stop us now!” Just then Robert felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see James Parker Pennington, Jr. standing behind him.
“Bob, I need a word with you,” Pennington shouted. “Outside.”
Robert turned back to Charlie. “Get me a scotch” he mouthed and mimed taking a drink. Then he followed Pennington through the crowd and out a set of French doors leading to the terrace overlooking the course. He closed the door behind him and muffled the din from inside.
Pennington walked to the edge of the terrace and assumed his usual imperious posture. “Bob, you know I’m on the board here and that I take that position quite seriously. It has come to my attention that one of the members of the team you entered may not be fully qualified to play in the true spirit of the competition.”
“What spirit is that?” Robert rejoined.
“Why, the spirit of fairness I suppose.”
“How is it the bona fide member of another club playing isn’t fair?”
“Well, I took it upon myself to contact several members at the Redlands Country Club with whom I am familiar. None of them had ever heard of this Conor O'Reilly.”
“Really? And what is it that makes you think these members are the keepers of the roster at Redlands?”
“I really don’t believe you are in a position to question their veracity.”
“It’s not their veracity I’m questioning. It’s your whole point,” Robert said stepping closer to Pennington. “The competition is open to members here and other recognized clubs. Conor O'Reilly is a new member at Redlands and that’s been verified in a letter sent to the tournament committee.”
“Well,” sniffed Pennington, “Upon further inquiries it seems this Mr. O'Reilly may in truth be but a caddie here at this very club. An immigrant they call ‘Mick.’ We should hardly permit such a breach of propriety. After all, aren’t caddies virtually professionals? And isn’t this an amateur-only competition? Besides, he’s just hired help here.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Caddies aren’t professionals and they aren’t employees. The application was accepted and that’s the end of it. I don’t want to hear any more.”
“Perhaps you need to hear this,” Pennington hissed. “If you don’t withdraw your entry a few of us are fully prepared to bid on the team. Such bidding may take the price out of your reach, not to mention that as the owners we could exercise our prerogative to withdraw them from the competition.”
Robert leaned into Pennington’s face. “Make all the threats you want. This is no longer about the money. You talk about fairness. What’s fair is to let this kid play. And that’s what he’s going to do. Now I suggest you take your arrogant candy ass back in there to your friends and do whatever it is you want.”
Pennington smirked and pulled back. “Very well. But there will be consequences I can assure you.” He moved to step past but was stopped by Robert’s hand to his chest.
“You threaten me like that one more time and you’ll see consequences that smug face of yours won’t like.”
Pennington curled his lip in a sneer and pushed past Robert’s hand. Robert turned and watched him strut back into the ballroom.
* * *
Robert found Charlie just as he emerged from the crowd at the bar with their drinks. Robert took the offered glass from Charlie’s hand and said into his ear, “Follow me.”
They went out through the foyer to the portico at the entrance to the clubhouse. Charlie stopped and took a sip from his drink and asked, “So what’s up?”
“Well, there’s been a snag. Seems word has gotten out that O'Reilly is a caddie here. The usual bunch of pricks plan to bid the team up. I’m not going to hold you to our deal. This could get ugly.”
“I was afraid of something like this. I don’t want to say I told you so, but well – you know. So who’s behind it? Babcock and Pennington and that crew?”
“Yeah, Pennington at least. They can’t disqualify the team. But they may try to take it over and withdraw them. I can’t ask you to go as deep as it may take to cover the bid.”
“Listen, Bob. As long as Billy can play I’m in. He’s never had to work for anything. I want to see him work for this. Plus it sounds like you could use a friend right now and you know I’m that.”
Robert smiled. “Thanks. Turns out this O'Reilly is a good kid. Got a lot on the ball. I want to see him get a shot at something.”
“That’s what I hear from Billy. Like I said, I’m in. Whatever it takes.” Charlie paused for a moment as if thinking of something. “Maybe I can help.”
* * *
James Parker Pennington, Jr. and Leland Babcock, the Biarritz club president, stood next to the stage engaged in earnest conversation. As it ended Babcock nodded as if in agreement with what was said and then stepped up onto the stage as Pennington returned into the crowd. Babcock walked to stage center and took hold of the microphone stand. He was a large man and so had to raise the stand up to its full height. Even so he had to bend down over his ample girth to get close enough to the microphone to be heard. He tapped on it making loud pops reverberate through the room. Then he intoned too loudly, “Is this on? Can you hear me? Can you hear me?” The crowd noise diminished enough that he understood he could be heard.
“Good evening gentlemen… and ladies too if there are any in earshot,” he began as titters sprinkled across the room. “As you know, I am Leland Babcock, Biarritz Country Club president, and it’s my honored duty tonight to conduct the auction for our fourth annual Calcutta Championship. Imagine that! Four years! My, how time flies, doesn’t it? Now helping me tonight, please welcome up here board members Benjamin Crowder and Phillip Yancey.”
The crowd applauded politely as the two took the stage and waved acknowledgement. As they did Robert and Charlie worked their way through the throng closer to the stage. Spotting Pennington, Charlie took Robert’s arm and pulled him over to a spot just behind Pennington and his clutch of friends.
Babcock resumed his address. “So now, without further ado, we shall begin the auction. As we have in the past we’ve taken the liberty to seed the teams based on past performance and the tournament committee’s esteemed considered opinion to determine the order they will come up for bid. So we begin tonight with team twenty-four, both Biarritz members, Messieurs Harold Walker and Edgar James. They’ve assured me they’ll do better than their last place finish a year ago! Now what do I hear for
an opening bid? Can I get fifty dollars?”
From the crowd someone shouted “How about fifty cents?” to a burst of laughter and guffaws.
“Now, now, let’s be serious, gentlemen,” Babcock admonished. “But all right, we start with half a dollar. Now what do I hear for a real bid?”
Harold Walker called up from the crowd, “We’ll I think Irv and I are worth at least twenty-five bucks!”
“Well, I’m sure your wives think you’re worth more than that!” Babcock responded. “So we have twenty-five dollars. Do I hear thirty? Thirty anyone?”
As the auction continued the prices paid for the teams climbed steadily. By the time they got to the highest seeded teams the bidding reached upwards of a thousand dollars apiece. Robert could see that the tote board reflected the seeding and that Billy and Conor would be last to come up. Which was surprising in that the defending champions were seeded but second. And that was all the more surprising because they were Babcock's and Pennington’s sons.
“Well now we’ve come down to our two highest seeded teams,” Babcock announced. “Next up are our defending champions… perhaps the finest team to ever play the Biarritz Calcutta. And I say that that with all due modesty because as you all well know my son Sterling is a member.” The crowd gave a collective chortle. “I can report that he and Parker… or I should say properly James Parker Pennington, III… are well prepared for this year’s event. That they are not the first seed is because of special circumstances I’ll get to in a moment. But, if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to start the bidding on this team myself at one thousand dollars. Do I hear more?”
“Twelve hundred,” came a shout from the audience.
“Fifteen hundred,” quickly came another.
“I have fifteen hundred,” Babcock replied. “And I’ll increase that bid to two thousand dollars. Again, do I hear more?”
“Twenty two hundred!” came the cry.
“All right, I’m given twenty two hundred. And exercising my privilege I will make it twenty five hundred dollars. Now do I still hear more?”
The crowd went quiet. No one had ever paid that much for a team.
“Very well, twenty five hundred dollars it is,” Babcock decreed as Crowder and Yancey chalked his name and the amount onto the tote board behind him. “Now we come to the number one seed, the team of Billy Compton and one Conor O'Reilly who is said to be a member of the Redlands Country Club. I must report we have indeed verified Mr. O'Reilly’s membership at that club. But, you see, we have also learned he is actually working as a caddie at our own club. Some of you may know him as ‘Mick.’”
